


Dawn of a new era

by patchsfallenangel



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Compromise, F/M, Fix-It, POV Sansa Stark, Post-Season/Series 08, Romance, Siblings, Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 08:44:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchsfallenangel/pseuds/patchsfallenangel
Summary: The Dragon Queen is dead. Sansa Stark is Queen in the North. When Gendry asks his Queen for a favour and Arya causes a scene, how will Sansa handle to the first real challenge of her new rule.Minor input from Jon because he knows nothing. POV Sansa Stark. Gendrya endgame. Post-season eight. Contain spoilers for S08E04.





	Dawn of a new era

Sansa sat at the head of the high table at Winterfell, back straight and eyes forward, as she scouted the room for her sister. Arya had promised to be at the feast tonight—the feast that celebrated her rise to Queen of the North.

Jon and the Lords of Westeros—the Lords that helped Sansa and Jon kill Queen Daenerys, that is—were sitting to her left, talking amongst themselves. Politics or battle strategies, Sansa wasn’t completely sure and, to be honest, she didn’t really care. All she cared about was the whereabouts of—

“Arya!” Jon cried. “Come. Join us.”

Arya moved with the grace of a cat but her face held the stoicism of a wolf. When she reached the high table, she bowed low to Jon. “Your Grace.”

Jon scoffed. “Now, now. No ‘Your Grace’ nonsense. Come and meet the rest of the Lord’s Council. We’ll be off to King’s Landing on the morrow to plan how this how—what did you call it, Tyrion, oligarchy?—yes, to see how this new oligarchy will work.”

“This is truly a new era, _My Lord_.” For a brief moment, a smirk played on Arya’s lips as she teased her brother with his new somewhat-ambiguous title.

“Leave them, Arya. Our Lords are being terribly boring,” Sansa said, wanting to join in on the teasing. There had been so little of it lately that Sansa was terrified she’d forgotten what fun was.

Arya bowed once more to her brother and his Lords and moved to sit on her sister’s right. “Do I call you ‘Your Grace’ or are you keeping ‘Lady Stark’ as your moniker?” she asked.

“Your Grace,” Sansa said firmly. “Let the South have their councils and oligarchies.”

Arya poured ale into her goblet and took a small sip. “The North never has been one for change,” she commented. “At least you achieved your life’s mission. You’re Queen of your own Kingdom now. How does it feel?”

 _Queen, yes_ , Sansa thought, scowling into her own goblet. _But it was the husband I really wanted. And the babies._

The memory of Ramsey’s torture stirred inside her at the though. She’d had the husband and drank enough moon tea that she wasn’t even sure if she could get pregnant. Sansa put her goblet down and noticed Arya looking at her intently.

“I know the feeling,” Arya said. She looked over the doors at the back of the Great Hall as Lord Baratheon walked into the feast. “An empty win.”

Sansa noted Arya’s expression with curiosity. Her stoicism was firm but there was an undercurrent of grief in her features. Sansa sighed quietly, knowing that Arya would never willingly tell her anything. Even now, with the two sisters being closer than they had ever been, there was still an emotional distance between.

Turning her attentions back to the hall, Sansa noticed Lord Baratheon walking intently toward her. Not toward the Jon and the Lord’s Council. Not toward any of the tables where the Lords of the North and their people were gathered. As he drew closer, Sansa saw a fire in Lord Baratheon’s eyes. A flare sparked within them as her glanced at Arya and then back at Sansa.

“Your Grace,” he said as he arrived at the High Table and sunk into a low bow.

“My Lord,” Sansa replied. “Are you enjoying the feast?”

“Very much so, You’re Grace,” Lord Baratheon said, though Sansa knew very well that he’d only just arrived. “I… uh… I wish to speak with you, Your Grace.”

Sansa quirked a brow at the Lord’s boldness. “About?”

“My Lordship, Your Grace. I wish to relinquish it.”

There was an audible gasp from several people on the High Table and nearby. Sansa herself was supremely shocked, but controlled her features rather quickly to ask, “And why do you wish to relinquish your Lordship?”

Lord Baratheon stood taller, not in an intimidating way but in a way that Robb used to when Father was away and Robb was the acting Lord Stark. It was a move that made one seem more confident, older.

“This title was given to me by the previous Queen and I do not wish to insult the integrity of the Seven Kingdoms by carrying out a tyrant’s wishes,” Lord Baratheon responded.

To Sansa, the words sounded rehearsed. “What if it was my wish that you remain Lord of Storms End?”

Lord Baratheon bowed his head minutely. “I would never insult Your Grace by denying such a gift.”

Sansa sat further back in her chair. _Definitely rehearsed,_ she thought. “You don’t want it,” she deduced.

Lord Baratheon’s hard expression waivered, and he swallowed his initial words, opting to think carefully about his next ones. _Someone has been training him well,_ she thought. _Maybe Jon? Davos?_

“I am grateful for the opportunity, Your Grace, and any bastard would hand over their mother if it meant they could lay claim to a land and a title.”

“But you are not that bastard?”

Lord Baratheon swallowed deeply once again. “No, You Grace.”

Eyeing the Lord carefully, Sansa noticed his left hand twitch and sweat gather on his upper lip. “Tell me the truth, Lord Baratheon,” Sansa encouraged. “Why do you _really_ want me to relinquish your Lordship?”

Sansa watched Lord Baratheon take in his surroundings. She knew without looking that they had quite an audience. The Great Hall had grown quieter, with only a couple dozen people in the back of the room carrying on with the festivities. Jon was leaning closely to her left and Arya sat tensed to her right.

“I’m in love,” Lord Baratheon said, after a long moment of silence.

This confused Sansa even further. “How is this an issue? Is she lowborn? I would have thought that any lowborn woman would love to be elevated above her station.”

Lord Baratheon shot a quick glance to Sansa’s right as Arya tensed further. _Odd._

“This woman… Well, she doesn’t want to be a Lady, Your Grace. And… Truth be told, I don’t know the first thing about being a Lord.”

“You led what was left of the Stormlands soldiers honourably against Daenerys,” Sansa pointed out. “And from your brief trip to Storms End during the Battle of the Dawn, you seem to have the love of the commonfolk.”

Lord Baratheon ducked his head, as if were trying to shield his emotions from Sansa. “None of it means anything without her, Your Grace.”

“This is bullshit.”

Sansa jumped at Arya’s sudden outburst.

“Arya!” Sansa and Jon cried together. Sansa pulled on Arya’s sleeve, silently suggesting she sit, but Arya shook her off.

“You stupid idiot,” Arya yelled at Lord Baratheon again. “Take the Lordship, Gendry. Stop being a stubborn bull about it all.”

Lord Baratheon straightened once more. “I’m afraid I cannot, milady,” he said, his Flea Bottom accent becoming stronger with each word he spoke to Arya.

“I thought we went over this,” Arya growled beside Sansa, though something in  her voice made it sound as though she was pleading. “You have the chance to have a family, Gendry. A home. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

“You’re my family, Arry!”

Sansa clutched at her chest in shock. _Arry? Arya is the woman he’s in love with? No…_

“I can’t be what you want me to be. I don’t want to be a Lady or a wife or a mother. None of it. That’s not—”

“That’s not you, I know. You said that the first time I proposed.”

_Proposed??_

“Then get it through your thick skull! We’re not meant to be, Gendry.”

“We are. Since the moment we met, we’ve had each other’s backs. All these years, I stopped think about you. I never stopped wondering—”

“You left me!” Arya cried. When Sansa saw tears gathering in the corner of Arya’s eye, she knew it was time to deescalate this situation.

“Why don’t we go and—”

“No.” It was Lord Baratheon who made the outburst this time, not Arya. “With all due respect, Your Grace, your sister will not face this unless she’s forced to. Well, guess what Arya, this is me forcing you.” Lord Baratheon took a deep breath and Arya opened her mouth to speak when the Lord snapped. “Shut up. No more running away. From either of us. We’re going to deal with this head on. I tried telling you how I felt and you didn’t listen. Now, you’re going to have to. I love you, Arya Stark. And you need to face the fact that you’re terrified that you love me back.”

Sansa’s eyes flitted between Lord Baratheon and her sister. _What the hells is happening?_

“I’m not scared,” Arya replied, her stoic façade back in full force.

Lord Baratheon moved closer to the High Table, leaning his long body over the table so his face was inches from Arya’s. “I left you on the King’s Road. I told you weren’t my family because I was scared that we would find Robb and your mother and you wouldn’t need me anymore. The Brotherhood needed me. They could give me a family and name and a life. Any life I saw with you was fleeting and, for a bastard, was too far out of my grasp to even fathom.”

The Lord’s voice seemed to grow lower with each sentence, adding to the tension in the room. Sansa noticed several of the people seated close to the High Table were leaning in close to catch each word.

“I left you, Arry, and I am so sorry. I was wrong. The moment I saw you again in the forge, I knew then that I never wanted to leave you again. You’re my family. My best friend. I love you. Please. Please just tell me you love me, too.”

“I don’t love you,” Arya squeaked. Her voice was small, but her expression was still harsh. “You did leave me, and I grew stronger for it. I learned to fight and I learned that I don’t need anyone. I don’t need you.”

“I don’t need you either,” Lord Baratheon replied softly. “But I want you. I’m willing to give up all of my father’s titles and lands because I know you would hate being a lady. I’m setting aside my pride right now, in front of the entire North and the Lord’s Council, to tell you how I feel. I don’t care about any of it so long as I have you. Won’t you set aside your pride for me?”

“I won’t be a kept woman.”

“Wolves are meant to be free.”

“I don’t wear pretty dresses.”

“Dresses are stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“I know, you’ve been telling me that since you were twelve years old,” Lord Baratheon smiled, inching closer and closer toward Arya. It was the first real smiled Sansa had ever seen on his face. Bigger than the smile he wore when named Lord of Storms End.

“Enough,” Sansa said with a stern voice. When Sansa pulled on Arya’s arm, telling her to sit down, Arya came willingly. Lord Baratheon stood straight, a hint of his previous smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. _I’m so confused_.

“You never told me you knew Arya,” Jon said slowly. “You mentioned my Father and your Father, but you never once mentioned my sister.”

Lord Baratheon ducked his head once more. “I know and I apologise. I didn’t know if she was alive and then I did and by that stage me knowing your sister as a kid didn’t seem as important as impending doom.”

Sansa, with a schooled expression, interrupted before things escalated further. _If only I had gotten over my shock sooner,_ she thought. _My gods, my Lord’s probably think me incompetent…_

That thought had Sansa turn cold. “It seems like we’re at an impasse, Lord Baratheon,” she said. “You do not wish to remain Lord of Storms End and yet my Northern Lord’s would take it as a great offense if I were to wed my sister to a bastard without a name.”

“No one is marrying me off to anyone!” yelled Arya.

“We won’t marry then,” Lord Baratheon shrugged.

“And leave my sister with bastards? I think not!”

“Jon, sit down,” Sansa said sternly. “You are all acting like children. Now, Lord Baratheon, Arya—both of you will come with me and we will talk about this privately. Do not look at me like that, Arya, I am your Queen and you have both embarrassed me and my court. Jon, I said sit. Ser Brienne, with me. The rest of you, please enjoy the festivities. And I apologise on behalf my family.”

With a loud exhale, Sansa walked out of the Great Hall into the adjoining council chamber with a steady step and her head held high. _Honestly. I’m dealing with children. For fucks sake._

Once in the chamber, Sansa turned to see Brienne ushering Lord Baratheon and Arya inside. Upon closing the door, Sansa pulled out her most scathing glare.

“What in seven hells was that?” she asked, pointing toward the door to the Great Hall. “You,” she said, pointing to Lord Baratheon, “are a guest in this court. You do not come here and embarrass me in front of my subjects. And you,” she said, aiming her wrath at Arya, “I thought you had outgrown this childish behaviour. You’re supposed to be a Faceless Man, remember. One more move like that and I will remove you from my Queensguard and sent you North to live with the Wildlings. Have I made myself clear?”

Both Arya and Lord Baratheon nodded in reluctant agreement.

“Good,” Sansa said, plonking herself in her father’s old chair with a sigh. She remembered a time or two when he reprimanded herself and Arya while sitting in that very chair. Now, it seems, that duty had been passed down to her. “Now, you will both explain yourselves properly.”

“Your Grace, I love your sister,” Lord Baratheon said with unadulterated earnestness. “I want to love her until the end of my days. I do whatever I need to ensure that happens, and right now the only thing in my way is this Lordship. Well, and your sister’s stubbornness but only one of those things is able to change.”

Sansa turned to Arya. “And? What do have to say about this.”

“He’s a stupid bastard from Flea Bottom who can’t take no for an answer.”

“If you really meant no, I would have backed off in a heartbeat.”

“Do I have to pull you each in separate corners of the room and interrogate you individually?” Sansa asked exasperatedly.

Nobody said a thing for a full minute until Arya spoke.

“Keep the Lordship, Gendry,” she said. It was the softest Sansa had heard her sister speak since she returned to Winterfell. Maybe ever. “Find a woman, a Lady, who will give you tiny Baratheon babies and love you the way you deserve to be loved. Let yourself grow old around a family that loves you in a warm castle with servants and your own lavatory. All that and more is waiting for you at Storms End. You won’t find it here.”

Lord Baratheon inched toward Arya. He knelt down so he was looking up at her and grabbed hold of Arya’s hands which were folded in front of her. “The only woman I want—the only woman I could ever want—is standing right in front of me. You promised me, when I was fifteen and frightened, that I could be your family. You protected me as much as I protected you, if not more. You showed me how to be strong and love and be loved and I took that for granted once. But not today. Today, I am standing in front of you: not as Lord Baratheon or as a bastard from Flea Bottom, but as Gendry. And I’m asking you to love me and let me love you in return. I don’t need a wife or babies or a fancy toilet—not if it comes at the cost of losing you.”

Sansa coughed loudly, hoping to get the attention of the Lord and her sister. Lord Baratheon stood clumsily but kept hold of Arya’s hand. Arya did nothing to shake him off, nor did she move in any real way. She seemed transfixed the spot Lord Baratheon has just knelt.

“There’s still the matter of your legitimacy,” Sansa said. “Gendry—may I call you Gendry? Good. Gendry, the way I see it, you have three options. Number one, you can keep your Lordship and I can help you make a strategic match with any Lady you chose. Number two, I can rescind your lands and titles and you can return to being Gendry Waters. And unlike your father, I would rather not go to war over a woman, no matter if that woman is my own blood.”

Gendry had managed to school his features as Sansa spoke and Arya had eventually come to look at her sister with a similar, stoic expression. Neither of them hand had stopped clutching onto each other’s hands as if it were their only lifeline. Sansa took that as her cue to continue on with the last option she had for them.

“Number three, I have Ser Brienne knight Gendry on the spot.”

Arya brow furrowed. Gendry seemed equally perplexed. “How will that help?” Arya asked.

“It would allow me to rescind Gendry’s Lordship while also allowing a man with some semblance of a title to court my sister.”

Both Gendry and Arya reacted at the same time. Gendry with a smile and Arya yelling, “Court?”

Sansa nodded. “Yes, court. No matter how much you dislike it, I am Queen in the North and I need to keep my Lord’s happy. Now, Gendry, you will of course be awarded holdings here in the North as a knight. Land, a holdfast, servants. However, this means that you will be one of my bannermen. You will be obligated to come if called upon in times of crisis and war. Do you understand?”

Gendry, still smiling, nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“And what about me?” Arya asked. “Do I not have a say in this?” She pulled her hand out of Gendry’s grasp. “I don’t want to be married. I don’t want a holdfast or a husband or anything of the sort. Besides, I’m a member of your Queensguard. I’m needed at Winterfell.”

“Arya, there I nothing in the rules that states a knight needs to live on his property. In fact, most knights like to travel, don’t the Ser Brienne. Did you not travel before asking Lord Renly to be part of his guard?”

Brienne stammered a little as she realised Sansa was suddenly addressing her. “Yes, Your Grace. I would travel year-round as a hedge knight, only returning home if my father called on me. It’s a lonely practice though, Your Grace. Which is why I swore my sword to Lord Renly.”

“Yes, but Gendry won’t be alone.” A mischievous twinkled glimmered in Sansa’s eye. “He’ll have a partner. That is what you want, right Arya? Not a husband, but a partner?”

Arya’s fingers twitched close by Gendry’s hand. Still, she didn’t move. “I won’t have to marry right away?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Sansa and Gendry both responded. Sansa smiled at the man, not that he would notice as he was looking at Arya like she was every sunrise and sunset. _I can’t believe this has all been going on under my nose. The way they look at each other. I wonder what else I’ve missed…_

Arya turned to face Gendry and looked up into his soft, blue eyes. “You won’t ever leave me again.” It was not a question, but a statement—and a harsh one at that.

Gendry smirked. “Never, milady.”

Arya punched Gendry in the arm. “You will never call me milady.”

“As milady commands.”

Arya pushed him in the stomach but, as if he were a boulder and she were a feather, he did not budge.

“Ser Brienne,” Sansa said, with a roll of her eyes. “Would you do the honours.”

Brienne bowed deeply. “Of course, Your Grace. Kneel, Gendry Waters.”

Sansa watched on as Brienne recited the words that would turn Gendry from Lord of the Stormlands to a Knight of Seven Kingdoms.

_In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent._

When Brienne told Gendry to arise, Sansa stood as well. As soon as he was standing, Gendry rushed to Arya and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. When he put her down, he said, “You still haven’t told me you love me.”

Arya rolled her eyes at him. “Why bother, you already know I do.”

Her words seemed to make Gendry lighter, braver. He swooped down and placed a gentle kiss on Aya’s lips. The way Arya’s lips moved over his, Sansa was positive they had done that before. The sound that escaped Arya’s mouth during the kiss made Sansa think they have done _more_ than that before.

“Let’s leave these two,” Sansa said to Brienne. “I need to announce these recent events to the court and let Jon know he needs to find a new Lord of the Stormlands.” Brienne dipped her head in a quick bow, a careful smile on her lips, and followed Sansa to the door that led back out to the Great Hall. “Oh, and Ser Gendry,” Sansa called. Gendry lifted his head from Arya’s for a moment as he listened to his Queen. “Welcome to the family.”


End file.
